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To me there needs no stone to tell, "Tis Nothing that I loved so well.


Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow :
And, what were worse, thou canst not see

wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours ;

The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,

Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass’d away; ;
I might have watch'd through long decay.


The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd

Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,

The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck’d to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.


I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath past,
And thou wert lovely to the last;

Extinguish’d, not decay’d;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

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To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.


Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity,

Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years.



If sometimes in the haunts of men

Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.


Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,

I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile,

Unfaithful to thy Memory! Nor deem that memory less dear,

That then I seem not to repine ; I would not fools should overhear

One sigh that should be wholly thine.


Ꭱ . 3.

If not the goblet pass unquaff’d,

It is not drain’d to banish care; The cup must hold a deadlier draught,

That brings a Lethe for despair. And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl

That drownd a single thought of thee.

For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,

Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind

To honour thine abandon'd Urn? No, No—it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil ; Though all the world forget beside,

'Tis meet that I remember still.


For well I know, that such had been

Thy gentle care for him, who now

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